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As he locked the door behind him he began the friendly march to the subway passing the same people, the same look, each and every day. “Eight million people, and yet somehow we all recognize each other”, he thought to himself. This Tuesday morning made it his seventh consecutive weekly meeting with Jack Hill, a New York City detective whose name had been given to Tyler before he came to the city. Hill was the reason Tyler was even on the train that morning. The only reason he looked the way he did. Hill was acting as his handler if you will. He was Tyler’s best hope for what he was desperate for. Information.

“Listen man, I don’t know how much I’m gonna be able to give to this.”
Tyler always was amazed at how Hill could squeeze bacon between a cigarette and words, and yet slightly amused at the fact that one of those would eventually kill him. Shifting his weight back and forth, Hill stopped to take a breath.
“Three new cases this month, and I’m primary on two.”
It came as no surprise to Tyler. Hill had never given him anything good anyways, but he came each week and bought Hill his fat plate, hoping something would help.

CHANGE

I didn't write this post. It's from October 29th. Posted by John Mayer on his blog at johnmayer.com. I thought it was pretty cool. He also said to check out Josh Rouse's Bedroom Classics Vol. 2. So I will. Enjoy


CHANGE

I've been thinking about something lately.

Imagine this:

You're on an airplane, sleeping with your head against the window, your heart set on being home this time three hours from now. All of a sudden, something goes very wrong. The plane stops moving across the air and instead starts falling through it. The lights are flickering and the movie is skipping. The plane dips hundreds of feet in seconds, and the yellow cups fall from the ceiling. They're a brighter shade of yellow than you remember, because unlike the demonstration, these cups have never been handled before. "Flight attendants take your seats now", you hear, the pilot's voice trembling over a cacophony of alert tones. You get that smell in the bridge of your nose like you've just been hit with a football. That's what the fear smells like. The plane is going down.

Four more drastic drops in under a minute. People are crying. For all the folklore about how your life flashes before your eyes, you're remarkably fixed on one vision - your parents. They're sleeping at this very moment, in a bedroom so quiet they can hear the clock in the kitchen. And you can see them, clear as can be. You wish you could see a playground or a first kiss, but all you can see is your parents sleeping. Huh. Well, that's that.

Several long minutes go by. Then, all at once, the lights come back on and the plane somehow rights itself. Some people cheer, but most people cry harder. The plane lands about an hour later, and as soon as you feel that touch down - hell, even when you were within 50 feet of the ground and could still technically survive a fall - you realize that however you brokered the deal between you and God worked; you've just been granted life in overtime.

Here's the question: what do you change? Whom do you call that you haven't spoken to in years? Whom do you realize has been toxic to your heart and drop with surprising ease? What trips do you cancel, and what trips do you book? What can't you be bothered with anymore? What's the new you like?



Think about that, and then ask one more question. Why not just change it all right now?

(Working on it...)


POSTED BY JOHN MAYER AT 04:48 AM FROM SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

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After the third time around, you wonder, “how many more can I take?”…


The bright noise of city buses welcomes everyone in the morning. Fumbling for the alarm, Tyler happened to send the ashtray and picture frame to the hard wood below. Not wanting the day to start standing in burnt ash and broken glass, he rolled off the other side of the bed. It became more and more difficult to remember the normal procedures of an early morning. In fact, the short walk from the bathroom to the kitchen seemed to take longer and longer. Escorted by the Turkish smell, he poured coffee into the last paper cup he could find. After three months in the city, staring into a mildew stained mirror, he began to see the toll cigarettes and frustration were taking on his face.

Marching Bands of Manhattan

And span the length of the isle of Manhattan,
I'd bring it to where you are
Making a lake of the East River and Hudson
If I could open my mouth
Wide enough for a marching band to march out
They would make your name sing
And bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings.

I wish we could open our eyes
To see in all directions at the same time
Oh what a beautiful view
If you were never aware of what was around you
And it is true what you said
That I live like a hermit in my own head
But when the sun shines again
I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound
But while you debate half empty or half full
It slowly rises, your love is gonna drown

Your love is gonna drown
Your love is gonna...

"Marching Bands of Manhattan"
Music and Lyrics by Death Cab for Cutie

Now and Forever

Artwork by Brian Morrison (c) 2005, "Now and Forever"


This week at my church we're looking at the story of Mephibosheth (I know, that's a ridiculous name). The son of Jonathan, friend of David, and grandson of Saul, the first king of Israel. If you're not familiar with it, check it out, it really is quite remarkable.

For fear of David the new King of Israel destroying Saul's family, Saul and Jonathan's servants take the young crippled boy away for safety. In 2 Samuel 9, David asks the incredible question, "Is there anyone in the house of Saul that I can show kindness to for Jonathan's sake?"

As the story moves a long, Mephibosheth is brought before the great king. As he falls on his face in front of the king at his mercy, David grants him unbelieveable mercy and grace, and adopts him into his house. The crippled grandon of Saul, David's enemy. The son of Jonathan, David's beloved friend. A young man incapable of taking care of himself, now through the grace of the king, sits at his table every night as a member of his family.

If you haven't read the story before, check out 2 Samuel 9. There's no doubt it's one of the most beautiful stories of brokeness meeting grace. A story of the fatherless finding adoption. As I've thought through the story the past few days, I've found my struggle is understanding that I sit at the table already. If I've experienced brokenness meeting grace, than I sit at his table. There's this really strong thing in me that feels as if some different, future version of myself will get me there and find grace. I can't for some reason believe that grace has found me. That he really loves me and accepts me, as a son. Not the expectations of me. Those who have children will have desires and hopes for their children. Goals for them to reach, that if we're honest, may define the relationship between a father and a son. Here, it's different, and the sooner I get this weird future version of me out of my head and embrace mercy and grace in my life now, that it's found me...well, look what happened to our lead in the story. He found himself forever in the house of the king.

Now he loves me.

Now he accepts me.

Now I sit at his table.

Forever I will remain.

Political Dramedy

I have to admit something that I'm not sure I'm particularly proud of. I've become a political junkie the last few weeks leading up to the mid-term elections next Tuesday. Now, before some of my audience goes to the next blog because I'm talking politics, wait. I promise I'm not endorsing any candidates or even talking about any of the "X's" and "O's" of the political season. However, I am fascinated by everything about it. Over the last few years my politics have changed pretty significantly which has allowed me to really sit back, and like a fan whose favorite team has been knocked out of the playoffs early, watch the final festivities in pure enjoyment, popcorn and beer in hand. I mean come on!? This is great comedy! This is great drama! Perhaps better than any other TV show could provide, well save LOST of course.

From the backbiting, to the talking points, it's all become this vicious circle of "what the hell is anybody really even saying!?" Senators sticking their proverbial foots in their mouths, radio hosts' insanely huge egos, and two candidates having a mini-showdown in front of the cameras because one invaded the others "turf". This season has it all.

Before you think I'm not taking such an important time in our country seriously enough, don't worry. I realize there are huge issues at stake. From science, "when does life begin?", to economics, and lets not forget the quagmire in the middle east. So I will say this. If you're able to vote. Vote. I don't care who you vote for. Vote your conscience. When you do that, all these talking points you hear from both sides that are as predictable as a bad romantic comedy go away, and some real thinking happens.

Think.

Think for yourself. then vote, and we'll all be better for it.

I swear. If I hear one more interview where the host gets a textbook democratic answer, and then a textbook republican answer from his two guests, neither one able to ever think for themselves, I'll punch the next cat I see in the face. (what? Did he just say that?) But then I'll just spill the popcorn all over myself and miss the cool ending next Tuesday night.

Think for yourself.

Vote.